


i would but leave the world in ruins for you

by theonewiththeeyebrows



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence, pain pulling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththeeyebrows/pseuds/theonewiththeeyebrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets hurt and Derek gets angry. </p><p>Rated for the violence (even though it didn't get NEARLY as graphic I was hoping for).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i would but leave the world in ruins for you

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Lolafeist (she is awesome and really kicked my butt on this -- but there may still be a few points where I went rogue -- sorry :P) 
> 
> Originally written for the TW Mini-bang but I didn't get all five stories done in time for the deadline (I only had 3).

It takes them by surprise -- the sharp "Son of a _bitch_!" that follows the barely audible whoosh of an arrow, and Derek turns around just in time to see Stiles crumple to the ground. He reaches Stiles as Scott does, and they look at each other, confused. 

“I didn’t smell anything,” Scott says. 

“Me either.” Derek looks around, ears trained on movement to the west.

"Asshole. Mother _Fucker_." Stiles clutches his thigh. There's an arrow sticking out, the head having pierced right through. There isn't a lot of blood, but when the arrow is removed, there will be. Derek crouches to examine the arrow, taking in the smell of blood, wolfsbane, leather, and an unfamiliar herbal smell. He can't pick up the smell of the human, but when he concentrates, he can detect traces of something human. Derek puts his hand on the bare skin over Stiles' heart, he can feel the uneven beat of Stiles’ heart, pain thrumming under the surface, and he pulls at it. Stiles murmurs his thanks in between moans as he slumps back in relief. Derek gasps as the foreign feeling races up his veins before dispersing. It is only a fraction of what Stiles’ feels and even then it leaves him gasping for air. He hears the other betas approach them just as he catches his breath. The tension in the air is palpable -- Isaac and Erica fidget, wanting to touch Stiles and see if he’s okay while Boyd stands back, waiting for direction. Jackson’s hackles are raised and Derek has to issue him a direct command to keep calm -- Jackson shoots him a grateful smile. 

"Carry him to the car and take him home.” Derek glances at Boyd before addressing to the rest of his pack. “When you're there, find as many clean towels as you can. I want all of you to chew on them -- get them as drenched in saliva as possible. Do it in your wolf-form if you need to -- whatever it takes. Cut the arrow's tail as close to his leg as you can, and pull it out from the side --”

“Dude, I work with Dr. Deaton _and_ my mom’s a nurse, seriously? We’re wasting time!” 

Derek glares at Scott. “Use the towels to put pressure to the wound. The saliva will help him heal in the next day or two." Derek instructs his betas and they nod in understanding.

"Stiles, babe, look at me." Derek pulls Stiles chin towards him. He can see Stiles struggling to focus through the pain, he doesn’t wait. "This is going to hurt like a bitch, so if you need it, tell Isaac or Scott to pull your pain; they can take it." Stiles begins to shake his head. "No, I know you're strong, but you _listen_ to me. I am not going to lose you," Derek says. He presses a kiss to Stiles' forehead before letting Boyd carry Stiles to the car. 

"What are you going to do?" Scott looks at him, head cocked to the side.

"I'm going to make them pay!" Derek snarls, eyes flashing. He expects Scott to tell him not to kill the man but Scott just nods. Derek tilts his head in curiosity at the resolute sternness set in Scott's face; he never understood how strong their friendship was until this moment. "Now, go take care of him for me and be careful of the arrowhead—it didn't deploy because Stiles is human, but if you touch it, it will release the wolfsbane. If the bleeding doesn't slow down in ten minutes—"

"I'll call Deaton," Scott says. “Go.”

He watches Scott get in the car and when it is out of sight, Derek takes off his clothes and puts them in his messenger bag before shifting into his faster, lupine form and running in the direction that the arrow would have come from. He hears the sound of an engine starting up, and follows the distinct sound. 

When they attack, he dodges arrows easily—but it does slow him down. His only advantage is the fact that he's already honed in on the sound of the car, so he knows that he will eventually catch up with them. When there are no more arrows coming his way, he speeds up and barrels into the side of the black SUV. He snarls at the driver through the window and hits the car again, and it sways on two wheels for a second before coming back down and slowing with a screech of tires. On his third try the SUV swerves violently, and Derek uses the momentum to push it further. It careens into a tree with a loud metallic crunch; smoke billowing up from the crumpled front end, and Derek can see fumes fill the car. He crouches behind the car as the hunters scramble out, coughing and distracted. One of the men has a large gash on his forehead, giving him his own unique, signature scent, but apart from that, the smell on his person is muted. The car, however, has two very distinct human smells, and only one of them is familiar from the trace on the arrow, and it isn’t the man with the gash.

Focused on the hunter that shot Stiles, Derek lets the other man get away. Derek pins the shooter to the ground with a growl, his fangs snarled close to his whimpering face. He knocks the man out with a blow to the head. 

Rummaging through the car, Derek finds a motel room key in the man's wallet, and drags the man there. He scents out the room, and ties the man to the heater with a pair of cuffs he finds on the table. 

As he waits for the hunter to wake up, he searches the room. There are photos of the pack, and Derek is shocked at some of the ones he finds, because the photographer had to have gotten pretty close without any of them suspecting a thing. He knows it couldn't be any of the wolves; he would have been able to sense their betrayal before they even strongly considered it. The thought that it could be one of their human pack members is terrifying, especially given the strong emotional bonds that tie the humans to the pack. How could he have missed a spy? He remembers then how hard it had been for him to discern the human smell on the arrow. The fact that hunters could have figured out a way to negate their odor is disconcerting. 

One of the suitcases holds a wide array of knives and arrows and Derek takes a sample of each arrow head for Stiles' research on hunter artillery. He also gathers samples of the herbs he can find—maybe the Vet can help them figure the puzzle of the scentless hunters out. He lines the knives up on the table. And sets up the the battery he finds in a tool box to the side of the bed beside the heater, wires digging into the side of the hunter’s torso. When the hunter starts coming too, Derek snarls. He wants to rip through the hunter's throat with his teeth and watch him bleed. To slice the man open with his own tools and watch him writhe in pain at the electric current passing through him. The hunter groans and rattles the handcuffs as Derek stalks towards him.

"The boy you shot was human." Derek growls.

"I know," the hunter says smugly.

Derek's eyes flash angry red and his teeth elongate as he knocks a chair into the wall, making it splinter. He grabs the hunter by the collar of his shirt, lifts him up until the hunter’s wrists strain against the handcuffs, and snarls threateningly.

"Look. I'm sorry, dude. Okay. We were supposed to take out the pack; I wasn't aiming for him." The hunter cowers and Derek revels at the sign of submission. The hunters don't know, and only the really old werewolf families know that apart from heart and breath rates, there are a combination of endorphins that the body releases when one lies. He’s telling the truth.

He walks over to the table and picks up a scalpel. "I should make you pay for hurting him." He runs his finger over the edge of the blade, drawing blood at the sharpness. 

"I'm sorry." The man scrambles, but he can't get away. Derek draws the scalpel's blade across the side of the hunter's face and the wolf roars in satisfaction at the crimson that drips from the shallow cut. 

"I _should_ rip your heart out with my teeth and gift it to the human." Derek moves the scalpel down over the man's shirt, stopping right above his heart. "Who sent you?" 

The man cringes. "I don't know. We got the job in the mail. Instructions, photos, cellphone, ammo, herbs—no name, no fingerprints and a dead-end trace on phone calls. Payments were made through an offshore account with aliases." The man hasn't lied so far, but Derek snarls in frustration and the man tries to curl into himself and pleads, "Look, that's all I know, I've told you everything. My partner, he's probably already been picked up. I don't know anything else. Please." 

"How were you hiding your scent from me?" Derek is getting impatient. When his smugness filter onto the hunters face, Derek snaps his teeth at him and the man cowers. 

"Sorry! Sorry! It's the combination of an herb and always staying downwind from you guys, the wind does a great job diffusing what little scent gets past the salve." The hunter cringes when Derek presses the tip of the knife presses harder, piercing through the leather and the shirt under it. 

The hunter sighs, and his shoulders fall resignedly, "Are you going to kill me?" 

Derek stands up and smiles menacingly, and walks to the table covered in weapons.

*

When Derek reaches the house, there's blood smeared across the door and a pile of bloody towels on the floor in the living room. He finds Boyd curled up on the stairs, asleep and whimpering. Derek runs a hand over his head, and Boyd scents the air with a twitch of his nose, settling down quickly at the comforting presence of his alpha. 

Erica and Jackson are curled up next to each other and asleep outside the door. Derek steps over them and pushes the door to his bedroom open. There are two bloody towels on either side of the bed, and Isaac and Scott are curled around Stiles, each with one hand holding towels to his leg and the other placed over his heart. Scott stirs and opens an eye, his grip on Stiles' leg tightening minutely. He checks the wound before letting go and standing up stiffly, the tension in his body palpable. He guides Derek to the bathroom so that they can talk.

"How is he?" Derek whispers, hands gripping Scott's shoulders.

"He's okay. The blood—there was so much of it so quickly, we were panicking. Isaac is going to be such a good doctor, Derek. You would have been so proud of how he calmed everyone down and took charge of the situation. We had to call the Dr. D, but by the time he got here the bleeding had gotten under control. He still gave Stiles some kind of restorative potion or something. Allison took the arrowhead with her to talk to her dad." He puts a reassuring hand on Derek's elbow. "He'll be okay." 

Derek's head falls to Scott's shoulder and he lets out a quiet, hoarse sob. There was once a time when Derek would never have displayed such vulnerability in front of another person, but so much has changed in the five years that he’s know Scott, and this is a testament to that. There are times when Derek still feels like the haunted, insecure and emotionally stunted man who'd lost everything, and times when he still feels hunted. He still struggles to trust his pack sometimes. Sometimes he is paranoid that they’re only with him for the strength he provides, but those times are few and far between. He tries hard to be the Alpha his mother was-- an Alpha that he would respect and follow. He isn’t much older than the rest of his pack, but experience has made him wiser and Stiles has helped calm him in a way that only Stiles could. Only a mate could.

"What happened?" Scott asks, voice low and rife with intent. 

"He had pictures of all of us Scott, not just shots from far away. Shots of family night, of all of us curled up together. They got so close and none of us even realized." Derek's frustration builds and Scott is scared he's reverting, so he takes his Alpha's hands in his own and rubs his thumbs over the backs of them, and it helps calm him down. "They have an herb that they use as a salve, we need to get used to the smell so that we can still scent them out."

"Oh my God. What about the hunter? Did you—is he?" 

Derek frowns. "He won't be saying anything. I made sure they wouldn't trust him. I bit him and he smelled like he was healing already by the time I left. The hunters are probably going to have him murdered and blame it on us, but the Argents vouching for us should be enough." 

Scott's shoulders slump in relief. "I thought you were going to—you know, _kill_." 

Derek lets out a startled chuckle. "Out of all of that, _that's_ what you picked up? How are you my second-in-command?" 

A complicated emotion goes over Scott's face and settles on a glare, "Like you said, we'll be fine." He can tell that Derek is eager for this conversation to end, "Why don't you wash up, you have blood all over your shirt. I'll wake Isaac up and we'll get out of your hair. He smelled a lot better when you came in. It's still slow, but it's the best we can do, y'know?" Derek nods and lets Scott do his thing as he splashes his face with water before discarding his clothes in the bio-hazard bin that Stiles insisted on buying. When Derek walks out into the room, he hears them pick up Erica and Jackson and call out to Boyd before going into the guest room.

He climbs into his bed and Stiles stirs when he wraps an arm around him. Stiles mumbles nonsensically for a second before his hands come up to rub his eyes. "Derek?" he whimpers, and groans when he tries to move closer but Derek's hand stills him. 

"Don't move, babe, you're still healing." Derek whispers, pressing a kiss and nuzzling into Stiles' neck. 

"Hurts." Stiles mumbles.

"Do you want me to pull?" Derek frowns when Stiles shakes his head.

"Check it." Stiles says, hand scrabbling for purchase on Derek's chest. Derek stills, he doesn't know whether he wants to, it already hurts so much knowing that Stiles is in pain. He sits up and moves down closer to Stiles' leg. He unwraps the towel carefully and looks at the wound—it isn't a gaping hole, and Derek can see the muscle knitting itself together more slowly than it does on him. 

"It's okay," Stiles says, and it startles Derek because he hadn't heard himself whimper but there are fingertips brushing against the side of his face, and he presses a kiss to Stiles' upper thigh, drawing away at the hissed intake of breath from Stiles.

"Can I?" Derek asks and Stiles nods, knowing the risks.

Derek pulls pain from around the wound and licks into it. Even as his tongue moves away, he can feel the muscles fighting harder to reconnect. He laves at the wound, glad that it isn't bleeding anymore. He can feel the muscles beneath his hand move and a second later Stiles is tugging his hair, pulling him back up.

Stiles pulls him into an open mouthed kiss before pulling away with a grimace. "Eww, blood." But it doesn't stop him from going back for another kiss. Derek goes and washes his mouth out when Stiles pulls away again, but when he gets back, Stiles is fast asleep. He curls up around Stiles and entwines their fingers together across Stiles' heart. He presses a kiss behind Stiles' ear and huffs a laugh when Stiles mumbles again. He's glad he's not the man he was five years ago. That man wouldn't have hesitated to kill the hunter. It's not that _he_ doesn't want to, but he knows that it isn't the only option anymore. He would level the world to the ground for Stiles, but he knows that Stiles will never ask him for that.


End file.
